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“C’est fini”
No more was said as Villanelle ended the call. She sounded slightly breathless, the way she had any time he had let himself into her Parisian apartment when she was on the treadmill. Konstantin was keenly aware of Villanelle’s enviable level of fitness, and found himself slightly perplexed. Kruger’s widow wouldn’t have been a physical match for Villanelle, but the job was done, and Konstantin fleetingly hoped it had been efficient.
-
As she turns her key in the door, Villanelle wonders briefly if she will find her apartment empty. She deposits her keys in the bowl, sighing a little as she shifts her weekend bag from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. A hiccup escapes her throat, eliciting another, more irritated exhalation. There is no note from Dasha; a hint that despite her instruction for Villanelle to stay put, she has not made any effort to check if she has done so.
Rounding the corner to her bedroom, she finds Konstantin perched on the end of her bed, eyeing her with a slight smile.
“Peanut butter!”
She slides her weekend bag from her arm, allowing it to thud onto the floor.“What?”
“Peanut butter. Old hiccup remedy.”
She rolls her eyes, but does a mental inventory of her kitchen cupboards and vows to try the remedy when Konstantin leaves.
Tugging her ankle boots from her feet, she joins Konstantin on the bed, crossing her legs as she speaks.
“What games did you play with Irina when she was little?”
The question isn’t one he’s expecting, but he suppresses the urge to chuckle.
“We played lots of games. When she was really little, she used to love sitting on my shoulders and making me run around the garden pretending she was a big bear!” He laughs a little, running his hand over his beard.
“You ruined hide and seek for me, though, сосиска” He teases as she hiccups again.
“Why?”
She shrugs. The statement from the weepy widow about her children had been brief, but had consumed Villanelle’s thoughts on the plane back to Barcelona. Her eyes meet Konstantin’s.
“Did you do it nicely?” He probes, confusion briefly evident on his face as he catches an almost imperceptible smile before she raises an eyebrow.
“I did what you asked, Konstantin. Did you do what I asked?” Her face is inscrutable, but her voice is hopeful.
He inhales deeply as he reaches into his pocket, removing a thick beige envelope.
“All information I have is in here, but Villanelle…”
She takes it from him, her eyes fixed on the envelope as she hiccups again.“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do, remember? To keep power, you need knowledge.”
He doesn’t refute her argument, but is hesitant to warn her of the pain she will endure by taking this step. He wants to keep the fragile trust they have rebuilt for whatever the fallout will be on her return.
“When you arrive, ask for Pyotr.”
“Who is Pyotr?”
“Your brother.”
-
Villanelle gently dries her hair with a towel as she sinks down onto her bed, her laptop still open on Maps as she looks at a detailed arial view of a tiny Russian town. Tossing the towel in the vicinity of her bathroom, she grabs the open jar of peanut butter from her bedside table and takes an enormous spoonful. Holding the spoon between her lips, she checks her flight details and train ticket booking. Satisfied that everything is in order, she closes the laptop and tosses it to the end of the bed, before returning the spoon back into the peanut butter jar. She reaches for the cord of the fringed lamp on the table, plunging the room into darkness as she pulls it.
A short while later, as she teeters on the edge of sleep, a loud, solitary hiccup echos through the silent room. She groans in exasperation, cursing Konstantin.
“You are so full of shit.”